


An Origin Story

by MKZ4345



Series: Killjoys [1]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance
Genre: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 10:51:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17641385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MKZ4345/pseuds/MKZ4345
Summary: G3R is a home android, model number G3R-600. Battery City doesn't have anything to offer him, much less does it want to. He makes a break for it, finds a family, and dyes his hair. He still can't really drive a stick.(Suggestions of Korse/Party Poison, but I do not support that ship so I haven't tagged it.)





	1. S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W

**Author's Note:**

> Fucking how do I write summaries without giving away everything I just wrote??? Anyway, I need you to know that you should listen to scarecrow when reading this because when I first sat down to write it I listened to that song on repeat for three hours straight. That's 42 times, if you're wondering. And that was only the first sit-down! I'm still not tired of it (does that make this a songfic?). This one's kinda weird but I enjoyed writing it and I thought it turned out pretty good. I even proofread the damn thing and edited it. First time for everything, I suppose... Please enjoy reading!

The sky was black. It was usually black. G3R watched the black clouds roll across the black sky and reflect off of the black buildings. The wires sticking out of his arm weren’t black. He liked them most, because of this. He felt a tug at his leg. Korse had woken up. He was crying. He probably thought he had broken G3R again. G3R moved his foot to indicate he was okay. Still, Korse cried. He cried as he gathered up G3R in his arms, as he stumbled half drunkenly to the bedroom, as he carefully put him down, as he searched for the repair kit, as he reconnected G3R’s sensors, as he re-affixed his left foot to his ankle, as he pressed the access panel in his stomach to reach the internal damage he had caused. He cried as he shakily reconnected the flow of coolant, the tube that allowed the use of his legs, the wires that were severed.

G3R watched him cry, wondering why humans did this to themselves.

The next day, Korse was stoic again. Cold. He had plugged in last night, he was calm and collected now.

“Have a good day,” G3R said, handing Korse his coat and house keys.

Korse nodded curtly and slammed the door behind him.

G3R waited there all day. He watched the dust settle on the door handle. He was never bored, he told himself. The dust was actually fun to watch, he told himself. He wasn’t sad, he told himself. Those were human things, emotions, and he didn’t have them. The sky, black from clouds of smoke, rolled behind him outside the window. He heard sirens. He heard screaming. He heard laughing. He heard walking. He listened a lot.

Eventually, when the sky was black from the lack of sun, Korse returned home.

“Welcome home,” G3R said. Korse jumped like he had forgotten he had G3R. “How was your day?”

Korse tossed him his coat and keys and quickly walked to his office.

G3R put the coat in the coat closet and the keys on the ring. Then, he got to work. He cleaned the kitchen, throwing out the empty bottles. He mopped the floor, careful to get every drop of his own blood to keep Korse from seeing it. As he moved, G3R felt his insides shift uncomfortably. He ignored it. 

Korse heard a thump from the kitchen. At first he thought nothing of it, but when it wasn’t followed by a “sorry” or anything at all, he got worried. He ran out and found G3R twisted up on the floor, fallen suddenly and without time to catch himself.

“What happened?!” Korse shouted, rushing to his side.

G3R made a static sound, like his voice box had been damaged.

“Did you do this to yourself?!”

G3R shook his head slightly, making a pained noise.

“Oh no,” Korse mumbled, gathering him up and taking him to the bedroom again. “I’ve broken you, they’re going to take you away…”

G3R had heard these concerns before. It was why he wasn’t allowed to do housework without Korse being home. It was why he was told to stand still all day. He could get hurt and if he got hurt they would take him away and turn him off forever. G3R didn’t want that. Korse didn’t want that. So, G3R did as he was told.

“No, no, no!” Korse shouted as he opened the access panel in G3R’s stomach. It was oozing pressure liquid. The connection to his legs was too far gone. He needed new parts.  
Korse lay over him, crying and cursing himself. G3R wondered, again, why humans did this to themselves. Why not just send him in and replaced? Korse would be happy again. All G3R wanted was for Korse to be happy. He was supposed to want it, he was made for it, and yet he couldn’t do it. Every few days, Korse would drink himself stupid, throw things at him, scream and cry and shout, and pass out after twisting and breaking his limbs. Then, Korse would awaken to what he had done and feverishly try to atone for it.

“I can’t order parts, they’ll know…” Korse muttered into G3R’s neck. G3R could feel tears streaming hot down his neck and pooling at his back. “I can’t fix you myself… I’m going to lose you…”

G3R felt something strange. His chest did something when Korse cried like this. It was tugging, pulling, painful. He had no name for it.

“I have to find a way…” Korse stood then, turning to the door and leaving. He went to his office and searched and searched for something- anything that would help. He found nothing. “No!”

He threw things, bottles that G3R had sworn he had hidden, books that G3R had organized, the chair of his desk.

He stormed back into the hallway and knelt next to G3R.

“I’ve got an idea, don’t worry, please be patient with me,” Korse said in a rush, wrapping up G3R in his blanket and then leaving the room.

G3R heard the door slam. He watched the black sky and the black clouds roll outside the window. He could feel the pressure liquid leaking inside his guts. It occurred to him that he shouldn’t be able to feel anything. Yet he felt so much. The ooze of liquid onto things it should never touch, the pressure of offset joints, the tightness of his nonexistent muscles, the oncoming headache from these events- he FELT these. It was visceral, the feeling of it all. His nerves- of which he didn’t have, mind you- were on fire. He shouldn’t feel like this. He shouldn’t feel at all. He was an android, they weren’t supposed to feel anything. Ever. Period.

Korse returned, and G3R heard other voices. Soon the voices turned panicked, screaming, shouting, pleading. Then there was nothing.

The door to the bedroom opened suddenly. Korse was covered in android blood, red like humans’ but more shiny and synthetic. He was carrying the bottom half of an android, severed from the torso that could be seen in the hallway. G3R said nothing.

Korse got to work, carefully pulling the broken pieces from G3R’s body and replacing them with the newer pieces from the murde- dismantled android. Once everything was in place, G3R sat up and Korse hugged him tightly. He was crying again. They went to the shower and cleaned off together, Korse making sure that the parts were working properly under the stream of water.

Later, Korse would tear the joints from the corp- dismantled androids and replace G3R’s old and broken ones. G3R’s cracked hip sockets were replaced with shiny new ones. His kneecaps were replaced with ones that felt so much better. His out of place disk in his back was replaced. He was shiny and new, and ready to help Korse clean up the mess he had made.

That night, G3R made a decision. It was a hard one to make (no it wasn’t), but it was needed. Korse was asleep, curled up against G3R’s back, facing the wall. G3R carefully moved out from his grasp and silently walked through the house. He gathered clothing, a button down shirt and slacks, plus Korse’s old loafers, and checked his face in the mirror. He combed his blonde hair to look less noticeable- less like there were thousands of him within the city walls. Then, he walked out of the house.

He stole a key card from Korse’s bag and made his way to the city gates. He swiped the card through the turnstile and took his first steps outside the city. He didn’t have a plan for this part. His plan extended to this. Then, he ran.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The diner was warm, at least. That’s what G3R tried to tell himself. He was still in Zone 1, but he was finally warm. The pants on his body were too big for him, Korse was larger than he was. He was curled up in a booth at this diner he had found. He assumed it was abandoned.

He was soon proved wrong when he heard a car pull up outside the building. He quickly slid off the booth and hid under the table.

The door opened and heavy footfalls filled the quiet diner.

“God, I’m so fucking starving!” Someone said.

“Me too, grab some food from the back,” someone else said, walking toward G3R’s booth. “Hey, wait.”

“What?” 

G3R held his breath.

“Do you own loafers?”

“Loafers?”

Someone kicked at G3R’s feet, and made a noise of surprised as he realized those shoes had feet in them.

“Come out, fucker!” They shouted.

G3R carefully crawled out from under the booth, looking up to a laser blaster pointed at his face.

“Who the fuck are you and how did you find this place?” The person asked. They were super handsome, that was the first thing G3R thought of. His hair was blonde too, but shaved on the sides and styled back- or maybe just wind-blown. He wore a leather jacket and tight jeans. “Answer me.”

“I’m a home android, model G3R, I-”

“What the fuck?” The other person came into view. He was taller, his hair was a curly afro and his voice did not match his face. “An android? This far out?”

“How did you find this place? Where’s your- uh- master? That sounds fucked up…” The blonde man looked confused for a moment.

“I- I escaped the city… My owner was-”

“-owner is so much worse-”

“-abusive-”

“-oh my god-”

“-and he killed androids to-”

“-holy fuck-”

“-replace my broken pieces.” G3R finally finished his sentence and sighed.

The blonde man had lowered his gun, looking full of grief. 

“It was cold,” G3R said.

“But why would that bother you?” The blonde cocked his head to the side.

“When tech gets really cold it locks up,” G3R said, oversimplifying things because he was tired- he was not supposed to be tired…

“Really?” The tall man said, eyes wide with wonder. “That’s so interesting…”

“It’s just a fact,” G3R said, shrugging.

“Well, shit, you can stay if you want,” the blonde said. “I’m Kobra Kid. This is Jet Star.”

“Nice to meet you two.” G3R felt awkward using his preset greetings.

“Do you want different clothes?” Jet Star asked as Kobra Kid walked away. “That shirt isn’t very good for the cold nights. Plus, those pants look kinda big for you.”

“… If it’s no trouble,” G3R said, trying his best to be reserved.

“Never trouble,” Jet said, waving him off and walking toward the counter. G3R followed him as they went behind the counter and into the kitchen. There was no food in the kitchen, but there was a couch and a wardrobe. “Pick whatever fits. It’s yours.”

G3R tried on a few things, making Jet increasingly uncomfortable with how not weird it was to just undress in front of people. He settled on jeans and a tank top with a leather jacket that was probably Kobra Kid’s. They fit him best, and the pants were still just a tad big.

“Looks good,” Jet said encouragingly. “You should probably change your hair, though, if you’re going to stay in the zones.”

“Why?”

“It’s too…” Jet searched for the right word. “Synthetic. That color isn’t natural.”

G3R considered his reflection in a small mirror. His hair was the only thing he really liked because it was his. Something Korse could never break.

“Just- I don’t know, think about it. It’s kind of a giveaway that you’re not human, I mean…” Jet didn’t like his own words, so he stopped talking.

Kobra Kid came and found them soon, telling Jet that there was food and that G3R looked good in those clothes. They all sat together at a booth and G3R watched Kobra Kid and Jet Star eat. He was intrigued by the way humans ate. He’d never seen them eat out of cans before.

Eventually, Kobra and Jet needed to sleep. G3R promised to keep watch, since he could go another day without sleep. As he stood outside, he watched the black sky. But this time, even thought the sky was black, there were small pricks of light all over- like the freckles that dusted Kobra Kid’s face. They were bright and beautiful white pin pricks. G3R decided he liked them more than anything he had ever seen before.

The next morning Jet and Kobra were pleased that G3R hadn’t run off with their stuff.

“Do you want to come with us?” Jet asked. “We have room in the car.”

“Where are you going?” G3R asked, as if he was going to say no if they said any specific place.

“Zone 2, the radio tower.” Jet started walking to the car with him. “We have more people there, they might be able to help you with- whatever it is you’re doing.”

“I’m not really doing anything,” G3R said, looking down at Jet’s shoes. He wanted boots like that. He wanted things. Should he want anything?

“That’s even better, you can hang out there with them and stay safe from that abusive asshole!” Jet seemed very happy to have him join their home base.

“I guess I can…” G3R climbed into the back seat of the car and watched Kobra turn the ignition key.

They drove off and G3R watched the desert pass them by. Jet talked about the desert and the zones. How dangerous they were, how lucky G3R was that they had found him before anyone else, how safe their home base was compared to anywhere else in the zones. 

G3R saw a burnt out gas station, a broken down car with peeling paint, a strangely decorated mailbox, and distant mountains. He looked up at the sky. It wasn’t black anymore, there were no clouds. It was bright blue and tinted yellow. The sun was unrelenting, but not unwelcome. He missed the stars. How did he know their name?

“We’re here,” Jet said, turning around to face G3R.

Kobra stopped the car outside a tall building with a huge antenna on the roof. As they got out of the car, someone came outside to greet them.

“Hey, Show Pony,” Kobra said as he walked past them.

“Who’d you pick up?” Show Pony asked, their voice muffled by their helmet.

G3R stared at this person’s clothes. Polka dot leggings, a crop-top that said “NOISE,” roller skates, and a motorcycle helmet. 

“Droid needing a name change,” Kobra shouted from the hallway.

“Aw, a droid?” Show Pony rolled over and did a lap around G3R. They gently put their hand on his shoulder and turned to Jet. “Did you give him these?”

“The clothes? Yeah,” Jet said, sounding like he already knew what was coming.

“I can tell,” Show Pony’s voice made it clear that was a bad thing. 

“I picked them out,” G3R said, quite defensively.

Show Pony said nothing, then laughed heartily and said, “Oh I didn’t mean anything like that! I can just tell that these are Jet’s dirty clothes! He never washes them when I’m not around.”

G3R doubted it. He followed them both inside, quickly getting distracted from the conversation by the amazing collection of items in the building. The lobby was littered with musical instruments, records, CDs, even some tapes. As they walked through the hall, G3R got distracted by the sheer amount of photographs they had. In the back room, the recording studio, G3R figured his eyes were about to fall out of his head with how wide they were. The personal affects that were scattered around were innumerable; clothes piled up, books stacked on a bookshelf, magazines thrown about, shoes shoved under the coffee table, awards with the names scratched off of them on a shelf, a desk with papers and a camera on it- there was too much for G3R to even fully register. Korse’s apartment was usually clean, pristine when he wasn’t drinking, void of personality. This place was filled to the brim with personality.

“Dr. D!” Kobra called into the studio room. “We gotta talk.”

“Hope you’re not breaking up with me,” Dr. D said, chuckling. He wheeled in on a wheelchair, and when he saw G3R he stopped. “Well, I’ll be damned. A home droid. In the zones?”

“I thought you’d be able to help him,” Kobra said as he leaned on the doorway. “He says he escaped an abusive o-… Owner.”

“Oh no, that’s terrible,” Dr. D wheeled over to him. “What’s your name?”

“I’m a model-”

“No, what’s your name?”

“Model-”

“No, no,” Dr. D sighed. “I don’t want to know your model number. What do you want to be called?”

G3R paused. What did he want to be called? What did that mean? He had a model number, why couldn’t he accept that?

“Okay, nevermind, Sunshine, we’ll talk about it later. For now, tell me where you need to go.”

“I- I don’t know. I just wanted out. Now I’m out…” G3R rubbed his arm. “I didn’t think I’d actually get out…”

“Well, that could mean a few things. But the first thing it means it that we need to get something out of you.”

“Sorry?”

“There’s a tracking device in most BLI’s droids, sometimes depending on who the, uh, owner was. Who called themselves your owner?”

“His name was Korse,” G3R said.

No one moved. Even though Dr. D was wearing sunglasses, G3R could see his eyes were wide. Show Pony gasped. Kobra nearly fell over. Jet’s jaw dropped.

“Like- like the scarecrow?” Dr. D asked quietly, trying to stay calm.

“How did you know his code name?” G3R tilted his head to the side.

“We need to get that out of you, now.” Dr. D suddenly clapped his hands. “Come on, now! We need to save our new friend!”

And then everyone was moving. Show Pony, taking G3R by the shoulders, directed him to a room off of the studio room, one with a few beds lining the walls. Kobra Kid ran to the bathroom and grabbed a few boxes of needed utensils. Jet Star ran to the lobby with his blaster, just in case. Dr. Death wheeled along behind Show Pony.

Show Pony had G3R sit on the edge of a bed and then helped take his shirt and jacket off.

“I’ll put you out for it, don’t worry,” Dr. D said, taking a box from under the bed.

“For what?” G3R asked. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

“You’re in danger. There’s a tracking device in you, and lots of people are looking for you, no doubt about it.” Dr. D had him lay down. “I’m going to put you out, take the thing out, and then we have to leave for a while.”

“Danger?” G3R echoed just before Dr. D pulled a cord behind his neck. His vision went dark and soon he was alone in his mind.

He hated being out. It was almost like sleep, but he heard humans had dreams. He wished he had dreams. He couldn’t feel what was happening, nor hear it. He was in a dark box of nothingness. Awful. He tried to make any kind of image manifest. He thought about Kobra’s face, sharp and indifferent. He thought about Jet’s face, open and inviting. He thought about Dr. Death’s face, scarred and weathered. He thought about Show Pony’s- face? Helmet? Entire ensemble? Strange. But good.

Without warning, he was snapped back into consciousness. He looked around and found himself in a van. Looking around, he saw he was in Jet Star’s lap, or at least his head was.

“…ripped out what?” someone said. 

“I may have ripped out a few extra things, it’s nothing bad,” Dr. D said.

“D, what did you take out other than the tracker?” Kobra. It was Kobra talking.

“Okay, calm down little snake,” Dr. Death grumbled. “Droids have these things in their heads-”

“-you went into his head?!”

“-called emotion inhibitors!” Dr. D shouted over his outburst. “They put it in there after their droids started showing human emotions. Their fault for making learning computers… Anyway, he had one, I took it out, he’s gonna feel great.”

G3R squinted. Emotion inhibitor? Something strange boiled up in his chest, anger, fury. It was fury. Emotion inhibitor?! Was that what kept him from fucking gutting that piece of shit Korse?! He felt his hands start to shake and brought them to his face.

“Hey,” Jet said, leaning down over him. “You okay?”

“No,” G3R said instantly, feeling his heart racing with rage. 

“What’s wrong?” Kobra asked, noticing his movement.

“Korse- where is he?” He sat up, rubbing his eyes.

Kobra didn’t know what to say at first. He decided on, “Why?”

“I’m gonna fucking murder him.” G3R stared into Kobra’s eyes. He felt them burning. Kobra’s eyes widened behind his sunglasses.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He was shit at driving the trans am, he knew that. The gears often stripped when he tried to shift, and he tried to turn too early, fucking up the suspension and stressing the wheels. Kobra did well to tell him all about how he was ruining their car and how he needed to be more careful and blah blah blah. At least he knew how to reattach the gear shift when it snapped. Jet, at least, pointed out some things he was able to do right. Dr. Death said he’d get it eventually.

Still without a proper name, G3R was at the diner with Jet and Kobra. They were cleaning up the remains of what had been searched the week before by who they assumed had been BLI. G3R kept apologizing for that, how BLI had torn apart their home. Jet waved him off and Kobra rolled his eyes. G3R hoped to become closer with them so that they would just speak their minds.

They had been talking about the different factions within the zones; ritalin rats were the ones who stole any upper they could find or found ways to get them, and then went on murderous rampages. They usually worked alone. Crash queens were zoners that liked fast cars and often crashed them or drove them off cliffs. They usually had groups of people. Motor babies were kids. That was it. They were rare. Wave heads were deadbeats that scorched their skin in the sun’s rays. They had no friends. Wires were droids, and they usually worked for gangs. There were a few really popular gangs in each zone. Only a few gangs were allowed to freely pass between zones.

“Okay, there’s the Birds Of Prey, the Transistor Sisters, the Gallons-”

“-they steal gasoline,” Kobra interrupted Jet.

“Right, and then there’s the top dogs of the zones, the ones everyone calls when they need help, the ones who everyone and no one trusts; the Killjoys.” Jet was using his silly movie trailer voice. 

“The Killjoys? Who are they?” G3R asked while folding his napkin into a bird.

“Us.” Kobra said. His tone let on that he was quite proud of that.

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Jet said, smiling. 

“Wait- seriously?” G3R abandoned his napkin. “I got picked up by the Killjoys?”

“Don’t make us look bad,” Kobra said.

They all froze when they heard something fall outside. A can, maybe, it was small. G3R heard it best, his ears better by design. There was shuffling, then G3R got up and threw the door open. He saw nothing initially, then he saw blackness, which was different than seeing nothing. Something was over his face.

“G?!” Jet shouted.

Kobra already had his gun drawn and was rushing to follow where G3R was being pulled away.

Oh, G3R thought, a drac mask. Cute. He yanked the mask off and whipped around to pin the person against the wall of the diner.

“What-?!” the person said, choking on their last word.

“Nice try,” G3R sneered. “Who the fuck are you?”

He stared at them. Whoever it was, they were a bit shorter than him and wore a comical Frankenstein mask that looked like it was from the bargain bin at a Halloween store.

“G?” Kobra was outside now, gun trained on the person.

“Answer me,” G3R said, slamming them harder against the wall.

“Ack- fuck- I-” they stuttered, and G3R pulled the mask off their face. He was young, younger than Jet at least. His black hair stuck to his face. “I’m just- doing what I was told!”

“By who?” G3R let up a bit.

“The- the scarecrow! Let me go, please-”

“Who?”

“The scarecrow-”

“Stop saying that,” Kobra warned, looking around for black birds.

“Korse!”

G3R’s eyes widened, and so did the sides of his mouth. A maniacal smile, hungry for revenge.

“Where is he?” G3R asked, nicely this time.

“What? I don’t-”

G3R let him go then, tossing his mask to him.

“Go on, I’ll follow you to him. Where did he tell you to go?” G3R was thinking a mile a minute. Of course he wouldn’t have told BLI, they knew he was an older model, they wouldn’t waste the man power on it. Korse would be reprogrammed to not care and get a new one. Korse had hired a zoner, genius. He must have been hiring zoners to search where he’d been, that’s why there was never any actual evidence of BLI, like the ugly stickers they liked to slap on wherever they deemed “condemned.”

“I can’t just-”

“You can,” G3R stared him down, eyes wild. “And you will. In fact, get in the car, let’s go meet him together.”

The guy looked next to terrified. He was still trying to figure out why the mask hadn’t worked. G3R pulled him by the arm and got him into the car, driving off after Jet and Kobra got in the back.

When the guy finally told them where to go, Kobra scoffed.

“The gorge? You can hardly drive out there, why would he-”

“Which way?” G3R interrupted. 

“That way,” the guy said, pointing.

G3R shifted into a higher gear, this time finally doing it without stripping the damn thing, and sped off in that direction, ignoring the roads. Kobra protested, worrying over his car, Jet just laughed.

The drive gave G3R too much time to think. He thought about how much rage he felt toward Korse, how disgusting the idea of what he used to do felt, how horrified he felt at the fact that he wanted to rip his guts out just to show him what G3R had felt all these years. He was scared of himself, of what he might do when they met again. He wasn’t held back by anything anymore, and that opened a terrifying door, rusted with years of abuse, creaking happily open to reveal the darkest parts of himself.

They drove for hours, until G3R could see the ground start to ripple from old seismic activity. The gorge was huge, they could see it over a particularly high hill. G3R found the road again and parked near a billboard.

“Tell him I’m here,” G3R said, shoving the guy out of the car.

At first, he looked like he was going to refuse to know what he meant again, but then he sighed, shoulders slumping. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small transmitter with a red button on it and pressed down. It was only a few minutes before they heard the rumble of another car.

As it pulled up, G3R stood in the road. He could see Korse’s face behind the windshield. Relieved, worried, scared- all at the same time. He could finally read his emotions properly. He felt rage build. He felt scared of himself.

“G3R,” Korse said as he slowly got out of his car. “I thought I’d never see you agai-”

“Shut the fuck up,” G3R said. “I’m not going back with you.”

“What?” Korse looked fearful.

“You’re going to turn around and go home, and I’m going to turn around and- go home.” G3R stared him down. His blonde hair suddenly whipped around his face as the wind picked up.

“G-”

“Don’t call me that.” He had decided already. He chose his name. He thought back to the few nights he had been a part of the Killjoys. The night the others had gotten drunk and high and when he had been offered it he had refused. He told them he probably couldn’t get high with it anyway, being a droid. They called being a droid party poison, a true killjoy in the classical sense. “Get out of here.”

“I came to bring you-”

“Back to hell?” He raised an eyebrow. “No thanks.”

“Hell- G3R you had everything with me!” Korse yelled. Kobra and Jet flinched, but G stood strong. He stepped toward him.

“I was in prison!” G3R shouted in his face. “I had you beating me every third night, I had you rusting me from the inside out with your tears, I had you fucking MURDERING PEOPLE to keep me, your little toy, alive!”

Korse looked shocked.

“Get back in your fucking car and leave, I don’t want to have to kill you!”

“G3-”

“Party Poison.” He waited for him to laugh. He waited for him to shout.

Korse simply stared at this person, the person he thought he knew, the person he realized he had known nothing about, despite having sifted through his guts more than twice. He stared into Party Poison’s eyes. They were different. More free. It stirred something in his heart.

“I really, really want to fucking gut you with a spoon,” Party Poison said, nearly spitting. “Please leave so I don’t.”

Korse seemed to deflate. He nodded slowly, backing up. Once he was gone down the road, everyone let out the breath they’d been holding. Kobra nearly passed out from the stress, stumbling back into the car. Jet checked on the guy they were with, learning his name and getting back into the car too. Poison watched the dust settle on the road, then get stirred again by the wind. He thought about the interaction they’d just had. Korse treated him like a person. He had really wanted to twist Korse’s neck until he could pop his head off like a grape from a vine. He was glad he hadn’t. It was probably the lack of an emotion inhibitor making him seem all sorts of human just then. Maybe he was now, who knew.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Fun Ghoul, that was the guy’s name. Jet Star told him it was cool, Kobra Kid commented on how it sounded similar to something but he couldn’t pin what. Party Poison couldn’t stop asking if his new name sounded dumb.

“It sounds cool,” Ghoul promised. “Nickname could be Poison. That’s cool.”

“Is it?” Poison asked, still pacing around the lobby of the radio station.

“Regardless of that, never do anything like that ever again,” Show Pony scolded. They had taken their helmet off, revealing their messy black hair and stern face. “You all could’ve got yourselves dusted out there.”

“Sorry…” Poison felt - new feelings all around - something like guilt, he supposed. 

“You will be,” Show Pony spun around and out of the room. Poison didn’t want to think about what that meant right now.

“So,” Jet said to Ghoul, “do you need a ride back to your gang? Who’re you with?”

“Oh, uh…” Ghoul looked down at his lap. “Well, I’m kind of… I’m- uh… I don’t have one.”

“Oh, okay.” Jet seemed confused as to why this was a problem.

Kobra, however, took a longer, calculated look at Ghoul and knew why he was acting weird.

“You a junkie?” Kobra asked suddenly.

Ghoul looked up at him.

“Jittery, twitchy hands, doing work for a fucking scarecrow,” Kobra said, stalking toward the couch. “What’d he promise you? 10,000 carbons? More?”

“Watch your tone,” Poison said, eyes narrow. “What are you accusing him of? Doing a job?”

“I-”

“Stop,” Poison sighed. “He was looking for money, he got approached by a fucking scarecrow and did what he could to survive. He’s no different than any of us.”

Jet looked like he wholeheartedly agreed. Kobra looked like he wanted to dispute something but couldn’t find anything.

“If he’s in need of a fix, finding him one is the least we can do to repay him for risking his life for me.” Poison offered Ghoul a smile and was met with one back. “Being addicted to stuff is hard, and usually not a choice.”

“Thanks, Poison,” Ghoul said.

That was how they found themselves on the search for the DIY drug that was making Ghoul tremble all over in the backseat of the car. The sun had gone down, they’d been driving toward the place they hoped would have what they were looking for; an outpost on the edge of Zone 2 boasted having all kinds of drugs you could think of. Jet thought they might have something at least similar, Kobra doubted they’d find anything in time. Poison told them all to shut up as he drove. They tuned in to Dr. Death’s radio show to pass the time and drown out Ghoul’s moans.

“And now, at the bottom of the hour, we have a special announcement comin’ from Zone 4, of all damned places,” Dr. D’s voice scratched over the old, damaged car speakers. “The Oblivion Hotel is now open for business! Zoners can rent rooms for up to one week in advance, overnight stays are welcome, and there is even food offered every other day! Sounds like a good deal, if you ask me. There is also assurance that the ill will find solace here, that’s what it says. I think we all know what that means. The doctor is in, folks. Hope they have good security there. Now, the last thing I want to say before goin’ dark for the night is this… I’ve got a couple new house mates, cool cats for sure, and I wanted to introduce them to you tomorrow. One’s a long-time zoner, the other… Surprisingly new to the zones. Fun Ghoul and Party Poison have- well, joined the party! They’ll be on tomorrow with their stories and some music recommendations, I promise you that. This is the first they’re hearing of it, though… Sorry you two. It’ll be fun, I promise. Now! Music. Here is, by the wonderful Never Nineteen, Destroya rest their souls, Ghosting.”

Poison turned the radio off just after the music started playing, huffing. What the fuck was Dr. D pulling? Putting him and Ghoul on the air tomorrow? Why? And what was all that about the Oblivion Hotel?

As he thought about these questions, the only working gas station in Zone 1 came into view. On the other side of that, just inside the boundary of Zone 2, was the outpost. Poison parked the car next to a gas pump and got out with Kobra and headed to the outpost while Jet started getting gas.

The outpost was old and worn like every other building in the zones, or at least the ones they had seen. Outside, a banner over the door read “Zone Two Outpost! Get Whatever! Hrere!” typo and all. Kobra had only ever been here once, with Show Pony, to pick up pain killers to stock up on. They managed to get away bargaining less than half what it was selling for. Show Pony can be very persuasive. 

Poison was still getting used to living in the zones. The way people acted out here was crazy. It had only been a few weeks since he had officially been a Killjoy, even if he hadn’t known it at first, and he’d already seen three people kill themselves in the zones. The first was at the gorge, someone - Jet called them a crash queen - had driven their car off the edge at top speed. The explosion from the crash drew their attention and the smoke made any zoners around scatter. Poison watched the flames consume the car, the body of the zoner limp and hanging from the driver’s side. The second was a wave head, sat in a lawn chair and barely breathing. Until, suddenly and yet so gently, they weren’t breathing anymore. Their skin had been red and raw, full of boils and blisters. They’d been sitting there for a while. Kobra pulled him away as they went back to fixing the car. The third was the worst, because they weren’t even human. It had been another droid, scavenging through the trash for parts, scrap, anything. When they investigated the noises from behind the station, the droid was scrambling to crawl away, their legs jolting unnaturally. Before anything could happen, the droid pulled a blaster out of fear. They’d taken one look at Poison’s stark blonde hair and shot themself. That got to Poison more than anything. 

As they walked into the outpost, a cheerful ding rang through the store.

“We’re closed,” a rough voice called from the left, the counter. “Come back tomorrow morning.”

“We just need to pick up some downers, if you’ve got any.” Kobra stepped toward the counter.

“You don’t looks like junkies,” the owner said, scratching his dirty beard. “And junkies don’t usually have friends-”

“Oh come on, we’ve got carbons to spare, who cares who we are and why we want it?” Poison was not in the mood to share life stories. “Where is it? I’ll pay full price.”

The owner just stared at him. Then, he said, “You know, not many people have been out in the sun long enough to bleach like that.”

“It’s not sun bleached.” Poison’s shoulder dropped.

“I thought so.” The owner sat back, propping his legs up. “What’s a pristine droid like you doing out in the zones? Didn’t like your cushy life in the arms of some Battery Babe?”

“What’s a fat fuck like you doing asking questions that don’t matter to someone who’d much rather kill you and take all you’re worth?” Poison snarled.

“So they got that outta you, that’s good,” the owner was unfazed. Nothing he hadn’t heard before. “Meds are isle six. Hair dye is isle four, if you’re interested. Blue and green are popular right now.”

Poison stomped off to isle six and grabbed as many bottles of sleeping pills and DIY downers that he could find. Kobra stayed near the counter, quietly apologizing for Poison’s attitude. The owner waved it off, chuckling about being glad droids were finally getting out of Bat City. When Poison returned with ten bottles, Kobra’s eyes widened.

“Uh, P,” Kobra said unsteadily.

“I can pay for it.” Poison dropped the bottles on the counter and then made off toward isle four. The owner smiled behind him.

In isle four, Poison was met with two huge walls of the same hair dye brand and way too many color choices. He walked slowly down the isle, searching the names for something fun-sounding. He settled on “Best Friend’s Nose Bleed; Red” and went back to the counter.

Kobra raised an eyebrow at his color choice, the brightest red he’d ever seen, but didn’t say anything.

“Okay, how’re we paying today?” The owner asked, leaning back forward in his chair.

“Card,” Poison said. Kobra looked at him like he was crazy.

“Sounds good to me,” the owner shrugged, smiling. “Let me get my card reader.”

He stood and went to the backroom, coming back with a small black square and handing it to Poison. Poison pulled out a shiny silver card from his back pocket, making Kobra jump, and slid the card through the slot. The owner smiled at him as a small delighted sound came from the box.

“Thank you so much for your business, boys,” the owner said cheerfully.

Poison grabbed their items while Kobra looked down at the amount they’d just paid. 7,000. 7,000 carbons. 7,000 carbons for downers and hair dye. And Poison just paid it like- like it wasn’t his mone- oh. Of course.

Back in the car, with Ghoul on three different pills, the car full of gas, and Kobra silently wondering what else Poison would be able to buy them, they drove back toward Dr. D’s studio.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You had to pick red,” Ghoul groaned, scrubbing his hands furiously in the sink.

“I told you, I picked the name more than the color,” Poison said, smiling like a maniac in the mirror. His hair was tied up while they let the color set. He was so excited to see how it came out.

“I know, but couldn’t you have picked something less messy, like- like-”

“There’s no such thing as clean hair dye, I bet,” Poison challenged. 

Ghoul’s silence was all he needed.

“… What if we did something else, too.” Poison was staring at himself.

“What else?” Ghoul asked grimly, staring at his bright red hands. God, it looked like he’d rummaged around in someone’s guts.

“What if we shaved some of it?”

“Shaved it? Like the sides?”

“All the way around,” Poison said, already looking at Ghoul with expectant eyes. “What do you think?”

“I think you should’ve made that decision when it was dry so that we didn’t have to waste the dye.”

“I think you’re being very negative.”

After they washed the dye out of Poison’s hair and they marveled at the color for a little, Ghoul fired up the clippers. This prompted Jet to knock on the door.

“What are you two doing in there? I thought you were dying hair?”

“We are!” Poison shouted.

“We did!” Ghoul said at the same time.

Poison sectioned his hair and Ghoul tied it up for him before dragging the clippers through the newly “Best Friend’s Nose Bleed” colored hair. Once they were finished, Poison looked at himself in the mirror again and couldn’t stop smiling.

“Don’t smile like that too long,” Ghoul said laughing. “You’ll stick like that.”

“Can’t help it,” Poison said absently. “It looks so damn good, so fucking cool, so-”

“Sick?” Ghoul offered, leaning in to see Poison’s reflection.

“Mine.”

Ghoul was reminded of one of their conversations leading up to tonight. They hadn’t dyed it right after buying the dye. Poison had agonized over whether he had gotten the right color for one night, then contemplated the effect the dye could have on him if he accidentally got it somewhere it shouldn’t go for another night, then made a huge long monologue about how he had always had blonde hair and how his hair had always been his own and how if he changed it he would be going against himself- then one night he decided “fuck it” and told Ghoul to come help him. 

“I thought it was mine before,” Poison said, smiling falling slightly, down to a normal amount of excitement. “But I was wrong. It was factory made, it was mass produced, it was synthetic and fake. Just like me. But now?”

Poison turned to look Ghoul directly in the face.

“Now it’s mine. Now I’m real.”

“Okay, are you sure you can’t get high on the fumes?” Ghoul chuckled, but rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’m happy for you, man. It feels good to be free, I know the feeling.”

Poison wanted to ask how, but Jet slammed his fist on the door again.

“Guys, I get you’re having a heart to heart, but Dr. D really has to pee.” Jet sounded too sorry.

“Coming,” Poison called, rolling his eyes. 

“TMI,” Kobra teased, walking past the door.

Ghoul grimaced, and Poison laughed loud. They’d be a family, yet, he thought.


	2. BONUS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The scene with Party Poison and Fun Ghoul on Dr. Death Defying's radio show. Mostly just recapping and some music recommendations... (Lots of my own leak into the characters'...)

Dr. Death’s studio was big. Poison had seen it before, from the outside, but the inside somehow had even more personality. Records in makeshift drawers lined the walls, boxes of tapes and CDs, a desk with a record player, a tape player, a CD player, and tons of wires, spare and replacement players in the back- the place was packed with music to the brim. 

Poison had listened to music before, he’d heard the melodies made in Bat City, but there was nothing quite like the crackle of a record, or the crisp sound of a tape, or the clear volume of a CD. There was nothing quite like Jet’s guitar playing, either. He watched him play for hours when he could, mesmerized by how fast he could play, or how easy it looked, or how fucking good it sounded. When he found out Kobra played the bass, he all but locked them in the studio to hear.

But today wasn’t about recording, today was about Dr. D “introducing” them to the zones. He’d decided it without them knowing, and now Poison and Ghoul were sat, cramped all around Dr. D’s mic at his desk.

“Alright! Took some doing, folks, but today is the day, as promised, that you all get to hear the beautiful voices of the newest Killjoys. Say hello, boys.” Dr. D was so excited that it washed away the frustration and anxiety Poison felt just a bit.

“Uh, hi,” Ghoul said, deciding to go first. “This is Fun Ghoul.”

“I’m Party Poison,” Poison said, feeling instantly anxious the second he opened his mouth.

“This is sort of going to be an interview, if that’s fine with you,” Dr. D said.

“Sure.”

“Yeah, whatever…”

“Okay! So first, Ghoul, tell us where you come from. If it’s a sore subject, go ahead and tell me to fuck off.”

“Uh- heh, no it’s fine.” Ghoul rolled his shoulders a bit, trying not to be so nervous. “I come from Bat City, used to be a lowlife nobody living in the gutters. Got myself addicted to their designer downers and had to split before I decided to off myself.”

“Well that’s terrible.” Dr. Death hadn’t actually heard either of their stories yet.

“Yeah, once I was outside the city, nothing really cut what they’d had in there. I hated that I needed it, but without it I couldn’t function. I got so low that I even- well, I even agreed to do a scarecrow’s dirty work.” Ghoul gave Poison an apologetic look. “I was lucky enough that the person I was trying to collect for him was able to save me from him.”

“It was me, you can say that,” Poison said, nodding to him.

“It was Party Poison who the scarecrow was trying to get. It was a scary exchange, but we all got out in one piece.”

“If you guys hadn’t been there I would’ve ripped him apart,” Poison added, scratching his head. “I knew him, we uh, have a history. He did some bad stuff to me, I got away from him, and eventually got found by Jet Star and Kobra Kid. I’m really lucky I met them.”

“So, you two met because Ghoul was trying to turn you in to a scarecrow?” Dr. D sounded genuinely surprised. “Only in Zone 1, am I right folks? Well, anything else you want to add? Anything you’d like to say to the zoners out there who look up to the Killjoys?”

“I’d like to say…” Poison thought about it. “I’d like to say that if you think you need help, ask for it. If you’re stuck in a shit situation, and you feel like you can’t handle it yourself, ask for help. Too often in the zones are there people like Ghoul who think the only option for them is the one pushed onto them, but he was able to get help from us. He’s starting to ween himself off the downers, too. We’re all really proud of him for that. So, if you need the Killjoys, call us. Any way you can, call us. I personally will try to be there to help.”

“What a good message, thank you.” Dr. D’s smile was bright. “Now, music! Ghoul, what’ve you been listening to lately?”

“Uh, my own wheezing breaths,” Ghoul joked. “No, I’ve really been into some classic shit lately. I really like that old album, I don’t remember the artist, it’s scratched off the CD, but the album is Boom Boom Room. Really good sound on that one. Also, Parachutes. I don’t know the artist for that either, but their sound is really great.”

“I think we’ve got some of that in the studio that we could play today. Poison?”

“I didn’t really listen to music when I was in Bat City,” Poison said, “Not much time to when you’re expected to be plugged in all the time. But ever since being out here I’ve been loving the original shit Jet’s been playing. Maybe I can get him to record it and play it for you all. But as for stuff that exists on records and tapes… The Misfits? Green Day? Uh, let me think, what’d we listen to in the car this morning…”

“Floyd?” Ghoul offered.

“Yes! Pink Floyd, The Wall specifically. Trippy shit, good music. Also, David Bowie.”

“Good choices all around, boys,” Dr. D said, clapping his hands. “Okay, so how are we doin’ this? Who wants to chose their song first? Rock, paper, scissors?”

“I’ll go first,” Poison said, reaching for a record next to him. “I know this is neither of the bands I just mentioned, but it’s been the only thing I could think of that would be radio-worthy to play.”

“That’s all fine, let’s see.” Dr. Death took the record from Poison and looked it over. “Oh wow, that’s a blast from the past.”

“I like his voice, this whole album has a britpop vibe to it.” Poison watched as Dr. D put the record on the player.

“Gerard Way, all the way from before the bombs, with Action Cat,” Dr. D said, pressing the button to drop the needle. “Let’s hear it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you find editing errors, please tell me asap so I can fix them. Comments are welcome!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always welcome! Also, formatting is always a chore for me, so if you find any editing errors or typos of any kind, please let me know so I can fix them. This was a long one, and while I did edit it I may have missed things. Thank you again!
> 
> (***Never Nineteen is a fake band created by Joy Johnson and Lisa Schroer, featured in their MCR fan comic Deathwish. Please consider buying the first copy, the second is in the works and it's really good!***)


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